Phoenix Riddle
by Yrfeloran
Summary: A story of death and resurrection. Memories of things past still haunt Albus Dumbledore. Will giving himself a second chance doom the world as he knows it?
1. Prologue

_The Phoenix riddle hath more wit…  
We die and rise the same and prove   
Mysterious by this love._

_-John Donne, The Canonization_

They were having tea in Minerva's office when the spine-chilling death-shriek of the castle's alarm went off. Tea was abruptly abandoned for racing at a breakneck pace for the headmaster's office. Two cups and saucers toppled off the desk, shattering as they hit the floor. They were paid no mind.

The gargoyle barely jumped aside in time as they both snapped the password, and headed up the moving stairs, wands out. Severus was first, but he stopped dead in the doorway. Minerva ran into the taller man, and spent about ten seconds trying to look past him, frozen stock-still. Then he turned to look at her, his face as frozen a mask as the steel one of the Death Eaters, and stepped into the room. She looked, gasped, and started forward, only to be held back by Severus's iron grip on her shoulder.

"Is he...?" Her voice was faint as she looked at the runes and symbols inscribed across a large cleared portion of the floor of his office. Some were recognizable to her, advanced Transfiguration symbology, while others, like the flowing script that predominated, were completely alien. In the center of a seven-pointed star inscribed in a circle on the cleared floor lay the body of Albus Dumbledore. The runes continued seamlessly from the floor to his body, except these incisions welled with darkened blood. One slit wrist was held over the stone basin of a pensieve, the left held tightly a chain in silver. He was far too pale, and the blood that he had spilled had seeped throughout the diagram. Power hummed throughout. The pensieve filled to overflowing, and shattered, and now the lines of the spell were outlined in bright silver thoughtstuff. The air around the points of the star began to writhe and seethe.

"Minerva..." Severus's voice sounded heavy. "At this point it would be suicidal to interfere. It's obvious he's planned this...theatrical performance...for a reason. And breaking the circle of the spell to save his life would ruin what he's working on here."

"But...what if it's You-know-who? Severus, we can't leave him to -die-!" Minerva struggled fruitlessly against Snape's grip. "Severus, that's an -order-!"

"Voldemort wouldn't have left Fawkes alive." Snape nodded grimly at the phoenix, who trilled an apparently unconcerned greeting at the two of them. The spell peaked, and Snape finally released McGonagall in the flash of white light. 

She staggered back at the unexpected brightness, but maintained enough composure to level a wand at the figure out of a nightmare that stared across the circle. His wand was pointed at her as soon as she moved, but both of them were cautious enough not to immediately curse the other. Minerva spared a glance at Severus, noting he was in a similar standoff with a man who looked...oh my.

Minerva had the presence of mind to keep the boy who looked -oh so much- like young Tom Riddle at wandpoint, but her attention was elsewhere. Those were Severus' eyes she was staring at, in a beautiful and deadly face that had some of Severus, yes, but it was the usually hidden sensual side of Severus that she rarely if ever saw. She had the self-control to refrain from gaping mindlessly at him, but she doubted he would notice, as he was staring in quiet horror at Severus. Others were there, but they were not –dangerous- like the boy and Severus's shadow.

The standoff continued, as both sides looked each other over. Minerva became painfully aware that she was outnumbered seven to two. Finally, one of the younger boys, in black students robes with a Gryffindor prefect's badge, knelt by the prone body. A very young blond Slytherin hesitated, and then darted out from the protective shadow of the boy who looked like Tom to kneel beside him. Both sides watched as the elder prefect examined the artifact in the corpse's left hand, then closed his eyes. The younger brother (the resemblance was obvious) imitated him a bit awkwardly. 

The elder's voice – eerily familiar except for the emotional intensity underlying the calmness, began to speak softly. "Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you…" 

The dark-haired boy who looked so very much like Tom audibly snorted. Two others, a boy and a girl who appeared to be students, were very quietly conversing. The elder boy did not halt his recitation, but rather looked at the other students with a tilted head. The dark boy scowled, and turned a full-fledged glare on the younger of the kneeling boys. 

"…a sinner of your own redeeming." the Gryffindor had not stopped at the interruption. "Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light."

The younger boy pitched in, late enough by about half a second for it to be awkward. He was squirming under the dark boy's disdainful stare. " Amen."

"May his soul and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace."

"Amen." Minerva joined the boys in their solemn chorus in this time, and was acknowledged by a briefly raised eyebrow in her direction. The familiar blue eyes – too familiar – transfixed her. The boy gently untangled the silver chain from Albus' unresisting fingers. As soon as the silver no longer touched the corpse's skin, Albus dissolved into nothing, prompting a few startled yelps and an identical oath from both Severus and his shadow. The little boy in Slytherin green was shaking as his brother turned to him and they shared a long look. The elder then clasped the chain around his brother's neck, and Minerva caught sight of a starkly simple silver cross for a moment before it was tucked under the boy's robes. The youngest then started back to his previous position, slowing a bit under the positively murderous glare of the tall dark boy but squaring his shoulders and returning defiant to his previous place. The staring contest showed all signs of starting again, except for the swift casting of a disarming spell by a craggy-faced man who had looked relatively innocuous compared to the dark boy and his mentor. Minerva's wand zoomed out of her hand. Severus blocked initially, but soon found his wand in the hand of his shadow. 

"Well-spelled, Adrastus. Marvolo, watch them. Now what do we have here?" The dark man looked down at the intricate diagram etched into the solid rock of the floor. Not that the floor was normally solid rock, Minerva thought hazily. Was this what Albus intended? And who was the boy whose cold gaze reminded her of the young Lord Voldemort? Tom Marvolo Riddle…who was this Marvolo? What had Albus been thinking? Why did he have to die now?

"Mr. Dumbledore, these look like your scribbles. Care to make some sense of them for us?

Minerva froze. No. It couldn't be…but the auburn-haired prefect that unconcernedly moved to stand by 'Adrastus' moved like him, and had his piercing eyes. Fawkes sang a short burst of song, and heads turned curiously.

"Gesius, tell me that's not a phoenix."

"I would if it happened not to be." the dark man said dryly. Minerva dared a glance at Severus, who was scowling fiercely at the Marvolo boy. He, in turn, was staring at Snape with no little curiosity. 

The young Dumbledore traced the incomprehensible spell diagram with the barest wrinkle in his brow. He spoke slowly. "Professor…this isn't a summoning spell. 

Adrastus looked up from rummaging through papers on Dumbledore's desk. Her desk now, Minerva remembered with a wince. What had Albus done? Who were these people? "Well, what is it?" He was now examining the walls, approaching the secluded corner in which Dumbledore kept the numerous honors people insisted on giving him. He was holding a sheaf of letters. "Gesius, come look at this…"

He did. And whistled. "Someone's been busy." 

The young Dumbledore continued. "It appears to be a resurrection spell of some sort. Memory is tied in somewhere, but the structural loops of the spell were on the body, sir. I could try to reconstruct it, but it would most likely take several years."

The entire room stared at him as he stated that matter-of-factly.

"Impossible." growled Adrastus. Frowning, he flipped through the sheaf of papers, finding an envelope with his own name on it. He saw the date then, and blanched. Tearing open the letter, he glanced through it and if possible turned even whiter. "Gesius…read your letter? It might make more sense than mine." He handed it over, and Adrastus continued ruffling through the papers. "Who's Severus Snape?"

"Present." Snape didn't even try to hide the irritation in his tone as he scowled blackly at the people who had commandeered Dumbledore's office, one of his few safe havens anywhere. At least they had not shown any inclination of wanting to torture him yet. He caught the letter with a raised eyebrow – apparently the two men had decided he was harmless. Well, it wouldn't do to disillusion them now, especially as the Gesius person had his wand. Tearing the envelope open, he started reading, wondering with a foreboding feeling what was within. The salutation was neutral enough: 

_Severus-_

_I suppose most of all what I am doing is giving myself another chance. While others have found it easy to gain my forgiveness, I have never forgiven myself for things that should not have been. I have been as blind as any all these past decades, and while others may believe me infallible I know that I have my limits. _

_Men che dramma  
Di sangue m'è rimaso, che no tremi;  
Conosco i segni dell' antica fiamma._

_As I write this, I am dying, slowly but surely. I would not have lasted the summer, even without my project. I sought the solution to the phoenix riddle for both phoenix and Riddle…and partly, as always, because I could, because there are actions I regret with all my heart. And because I am old – after I die they should otherwise be no more remembered. You cannot imagine how I felt when I saw that the brilliant boy had solved what I had dismissed as impossible because he did not know it was impossible – and how I feared that mind twisted as far as it is as a weapon against the light…_

_  
  
  
_

Author's Note:

This piece is placed up here, as usual, mainly for my own amusement. It may or may not be continued, depending on my fickle mood. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and she's welcome to him – I claim no ownership of those characters. Other characters present are the debatable property of the delightful Minerva McTabby, hijacked from the 1855 Marvoloverse of 'Two Worlds and In-Between', which I am certain will become a cult classic as soon as it is publicly released. I say debatable because they seem to own her more than she owns them. Julius is especially Imperio-happy, and doesn't like to play nice with his author (or indeed anyone). If you've read thus far and are not confused out of your proverbial gourd, I suggest you try my other public story 'Blood Runs True', which is almost guaranteed to confuse in places. Otherwise, don't bother, or read it just for the one-liners.

-teluekh: 'Aberforth Dumbledore gets my goat'


	2. Chapter I

_…the Great Hall hummed with that peculiar intensity generated whenever a large number of wizards are all concentrating on the same thing…_

It was a subdued group of students that straggled into the Great Hall that September, students who had spent the summer seeing the vise of the dark lord tightening on the Wizarding World, with the Ministry still denying everything. Rumors had spread that even Hogwarts was not sacred, that something unexpected had happened in the ancient castle. The school had been keeping extraordinarily tight security. Rumors on the train were along the lines of McGonagall dead, a secret Death Eater assault toppling the Astronomy Tower, or even the entire school now being a Dark fortress. Harry had dismissed the last when he spotted the draped form of Severus Snape shepherding the students onto the train with a dark scowl, but he was still extraordinarily nervous. This world was no longer a safe haven for him- there were evils more profound than the Dursleys', and while Aunt Petunia might compel him to weed the garden, she wouldn't try and turn his death into a spectator sport. 

His eyes were, as always, drawn immediately to the High Table, but now they froze there. Looking far too frail and not at all at home in the throne of the Headmaster was Professor Minerva McGonagall, in emerald green robes and - his heart sank - wearing the chain of the office of the Headmaster. Headmistress, he corrected himself with a grimace. 

He had known Dumbledore was old, but dead now, when they most needed him? Many of the students were only here because the safest place to be with Voldemort loose was wherever Albus Dumbledore happened to be. 

There were new faces at the staff table too. A just-greying man who looked more than a bit like old Mad-Eye Moody was conversing amicably with a striking man who looked quite a bit like a, well, prettier Snape. Glancing at the people beside him, Harry winced inwardly. Hermione was almost drooling, while Ron had a star-struck expression on his face. Pausing only to snarl at Malfoy grinning gleefully as he looked at the chair that could not ever really be filled by Minerva McGonagall, Harry kept walking. The absence of Dumbledore hung heavy in the air.

Surprisingly, the student tables were not empty. Four students were seated at the four tables before the rest filed in, an auburn-haired Gryffindor studying something intently, a smiling, curly-haired Ravenclaw, a pretty Hufflepuff girl, and a dark-haired Slytherin boy who suddenly turned to look at Harry. Harry froze. Behind them there was a quiet squeak as Ginny ran into him, then a shriek as she spotted the Slytherin.

Harry managed to muffle her, but her brothers immediately surrounded her, demanding to know what was wrong. She was incoherent, shivering to herself. Harry drew her close, disregarding the glares from the three Weasley brothers. He helped her to the table. Ron sat on the other side of Ginny, while Fred and George took the seats opposite.

"Snap out of it, Gin!" Ron whispered, and then glared at Harry. "What did you do to her?"

"It wasn't me!" Harry hissed back. "It's sort of the whole deal of seeing Tom bloody-Riddle at the Slytherin table..."

Ron turned white, scanning across the hall frantically. "Him..here?"

"Who?" asked Fred.

"My scar's not hurting...and he's not paying me any attention...I think it might not be, well, _him_"

"Stop talking in riddles and spill, Potter" snapped George, losing patience for the first time Harry could remember. Ginny sniffled to herself.

"The kid over there - he looks like Lord Voldemort."

All four Weasleys winced simultaneously at the use of the name. Harry tried to refrain from rolling his eyes as prefect Hermione joined them after breaking up a little scuffle among the third-years. She slid in between Harry and the new Gryffindor, peering over the redhead's shoulder at the arcane scribbles. He looked up, nodded at her, and then returned to his work in an obvious dismissal. Hermione looked like she was about to say something, but stopped as the first years, led by Professor Snape, made their way in.

The Sorting began without much fuss, and Harry looked over the crop of new recruits. Nothing worth looking at, for the most part- a young black boy with Veela hair being the only one who really stood out. One of them, surprisingly, was already in Slytherin robes and peeled off to sit beside the Riddle-esque boy at the head of the table. Curious. Harry cheered when his table did, but he was hungry, slightly out of it, and trying not to think about how tempting a target Hogwarts was to the Dark with Dumbledore out of the way. He glanced up after a particularly enthusiastic round of cheers.

"Farryll, Christopher!" A boy even tinier than Dennis Creevy had been hoisted himself up on the stool and dropped the Hat over his head. It called "SLYTHERIN!" after a few seconds pause, and "Gordon, Damascus!" was called up to become a Hufflepuff. It all seemed less and less relevant to Harry, who stared at the dark boy at the Slytherin table- who looked over, meeting his gaze calmly and with no apparent antagonism. Those blue eyes became calculating as they passed over Hermione and the strange boy, before flicking back to his own table as another new Slytherin was Sorted.

Time passed. Pritchards and Saggs alike were sorted, but the whole hall looked up as Professor Snape drawled "Snape, Arete." A surprisingly pretty girl with braided black hair started towards the Hat eagerly, jamming it on her head. The resulting "SLYTHERIN!" surprised absolutely nobody, and young Miss Snape swept off to the Slytherin table amidst cheers, obviously trying to be 'grown-up' by imitating her father's stride and doing about the best an eleven-year-old girl could at it, which meant she looked a bit silly. Most of the Gryffindors looked thunderstruck.

"Snape has a family? Since when?"

Fred clutched his head. "Bad mental image!"

"Oh, ew!" piped up someone from further down the table.

"Shhh!" hissed Hermione.

Professor Snape smiled thinly at the thrilled-looking girl at the Slytherin Table, basking in attention she had yet to realize was not as much admiring as incredulous, and then continued. 

"Snape, Lachesis!"

The Hat took a bit longer with this one, finally deciding, "RAVENCLAW!" The cheers from the Ravenclaw table were a bit half-hearted- besides the fact the oily shoulder-length hair was a nondescript brown and not black she looked amazingly like the Professor. Harry mentally filed the Snape girls under "off-limits", and stared at his plate, trying to will food into existence. Soon the Sorting was over, and Harry forced himself to pay attention as Professor McGonagall.shakily stood to give the announcements.

"Welcome, all, to another year of school at Hogwarts.I will try to make this brief, but there are a few major changes to the school rules that should be noted. First, the Central Common room will be re-opened this year for extracurricular magic practice. Similarly, the training rooms in the dungeons are open again. Please note that there is still no magic use permitted in the corridors, and students are entirely responsible for the upkeep of these rooms. Please note that their use is a privilege and not a right, and can be revoked at any time. The forest on the grounds remains off limits for unsupervised students. 

The Weasleys were on their feet cheering, along with a good portion of the rest of the school. A glare from McGonagall caused them to settle down.

"We regret to inform you" McGonagall was trying to sound regretful with little success, "Professor Trelawney will not be teaching Divination this year. May I introduce Professor Lott, our new head of Slytherin House, who will be teaching Defense against the Dark Arts as well." The dark and handsome man who faintly resembled Snape stood, cold eyes sweeping around the room. Much of the female population and no small portion of the male one was trying vainly not to drool. Harry couldn't see the reason for the seeming magnetism himself.

"Also joining us this year is veteran Transfiguration teacher Adrastus Switch, who will be replacing me as the head of Gryffindor House. Please, a round of applause for our new teachers."

The feast started soon after, but Harry found himself unable to eat, despite being starving. No mention of Dumbledore in the entire speech. What had happened to him? Who were the strange prefects? He was still unsettled when he returned to his Hogwarts bed, staring up at the canopy well into the night. 


	3. Chapter II

_Switch chuckled. "Ah, Gesius, trade me this one! I'll give you the Valery lad, and throw in a couple of Weasleys –_

_"No trade," said Lott lightly, standing and reaching for his wand. "Not unless you're parting with Dumbledore."_

Ron Weasley awoke to shouting, bustle, and the concerted magical efforts of all four of his roommates as they jumpily levitated him out of bed and onto the floor. Gurgling something incoherent, he shielded himself from the light that he suddenly realized was not present.

Second year, by the unanimous agreement of his roommates, Ron had been relegated to the bed across from the window, on the grounds that any natural aid in waking him up was welcome. However, the window only showed the first tinges of dawn. Harry tossed his school robes at him, and he sleepily put them all, wondering what the big rush was about. Manhandled down the staircase, he stumbled into the common room, where the rest of Gryffindor house was standing in a similar state of dishevelment and confusion. Looking on disapprovingly was Professor Switch. 

"House Gryffindor. Is that the best you can do? It seems standards of discipline as well as academics have been relaxed since I attended- and that _will_ be corrected. I am, as you may know, your new head of house, and beginning now you are my responsibility. I will not tolerate insubordination in any form, Do I make myself clear?"

A muttered "Yes, sir" resentfully rippled through the crowd, and Switch frowned slightly but continued. "In any case, schedules are to be distributed in the Great Hall. All students third-year and above will be tested during their Defense against the Dark Arts classes today or tomorrow. Additionally, a demonstration for an extracurricular Dueling Club will take place at lunch today. Prefects are required to attend..._all_ prefects, while other students are limited to 10 per house. I am further limiting entries from this house to the fifth years and above- no arguments, no exceptions. I suggest strongly that you make yourself presentable before reporting for breakfast - dismissed!"

Ron and others straggled gratefully up the stairs. A darkly murmured comment from a Weasley twin was heralded by grim chuckles as soon as they rounded the corner of the stairs. And they had thought McGonagall was strict...

The students eventually came down to breakfast to find their schedules, grumbling more than a bit about early mornings and sadistic Professors. Ron was almost the last down, dropping heavily into his seat beside Harry. "What do we have today?"

Harry and Ron shared a schedule, so Ron craned his neck over Harry's shoulder as the scarred boy spoke. "Double Defense first...all houses together. They're sorting into advanced and main track classes, and Hermione says they usually don't do that until sixth form. I wonder what's up with that? Afternoon is Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, and then Astronomy in the evening. Tomorrow...Care of Magical Creatures..." Ron started groaning even before he finished, "with the Slytherins. Again. Charms with the Hufflepuffs, and then there's a free double period where Hermione has Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Wednesday has Potions first thing."

"With Slytherin again?" Ron asked, without much hope for a negative answer.

"Yeah. Then Defense again, and the afternoon is double Charms." Harry squinted at the lettering. "Thursday is double Transfiguration, then Herbology and then History of Magic with the Ravenclaws...oh, and Astronomy. Then Friday...ouch. Double History of Magic, and then rounding out the day, Double Potions. I really can't wait until we can drop some of those classes next year…"

Ron made a face as the daily storm of owls assaulted the Great Hall. Malfoy's eagle owl was obvious, but Harry's Hedwig was nowhere in sight. Most of the first-years got packages from home, and Fred and George got a Howler...Mrs. Weasley going on about holing the first years' boats or something of the sort. Her bellows had barely died away when a beautiful vision in fire appeared at the apex of the ceiling-sky, slowly spiraling down. The phoenix, for it could hardly be anything else, was in full show, fire licking at his feathers without singing them, trailing behind him. The Hall watched as he glided to the staff table before banking and swooping over towards the trio. Just short of them a sheaf of papers was dropped, and an arm was held up. The phoenix landed gracefully, curling himself around the shoulder of the strange prefect, who was matter-of-factly going through the papers as the Gryffindors around him gaped.

Ron and Harry both looked shrewdly at the bird, who craned his bennet neck to look back. "Fawkes? Fawkes!" The phoenix trilled happily in response. Ron looked around. "Where's Dumbledore? And since when are you a mailbird?"

"Since I asked him." The mild voice was eerily familiar, and Ron stared into the pale blue eyes of the auburn-haired prefect. "I do not believe we have been introduced...?"

"Ron Weasley. These are my friends Harry Potter and Hermione Granger" Hermione waved distractedly from where she was re-reading 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts'. "You?"

"Albus Dumbledore. Hogwarts School of Wizardry, class of 1858"

Ron swore, and there was a clatter as Harry dropped his fork onto his plate. "You're _kidding_ me."

The prefect half-raised his eyebrows. "I don't believe so, no. Lemon drop?" He was untwisting a crudely wrapped confection. When Ron and Harry both shook their heads mutely, he shrugged and offered it to Fawkes, who gulped it down greedily before abruptly disappearing. Dumbledore seemed completely nonchalant at the occurrence, returning to the perusal of the various papers arrayed in front of him. Ron exchanged a long look with Harry before they excused themselves from the table, heading to the rarely-used lecture hall that was the indicated room for Defense against the Dark Arts.

The half-opened door behind the podium and the instructions written in elegant script on the blackboard were the only indications of the presence of Professor Lott. Ron slumped into a seat well up in the tiers, near the door - after a bit of hesitation, Harry joined him, while Hermione moved to sit at the front of the class. Squinting at the board, he read:  
  


_Testing for Divination ability will be ongoing throughout this class. It is strongly recommended that students write an essay outlining their perception of the Dark Arts, and defining the Dark Arts in relation to other magic to occupy themselves in the meantime. _

_-Professor Lott_

Indeed, the professor in question, garbed in a somewhat archaic black robe that only highlighted his eerie resemblance to Professor Snape, appeared briefly to curtly motion Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott into the room beyond. In a matter of minutes, she emerged, shrugging, and indicating to the next student they could go in.

Professor Lott's appearance had shushed the lecture hall, but almost as soon as he was behind the door whispered conversations started up. Slightly less than half the people were doing the recommended essay, and Ron was not among them. Harry had given him an apologetic look after getting out parchment and beginning his.

"I'd love to chat Ron, really-it's just that this isn't just another subject for me, it's, well, not to be overdramatic, but it might literally mean life or death. You understand, right?"

He did, though he resented it. Not entertaining even for a moment the notion that Hermione might be blowing off the essay and want to chat, he instead moved over to sit by Dean and Seamus, who were having an argument over Quidditch and (Ron made a face to himself) Viktor Krum, who had had a very successful summer. The Bulgarian team was looking to be in the running for the World Cup again, after their hairline defeat last year. Both of them grinned as Ron loudly protested the assertion that this was due to Krum's talent, and then tried vainly to change the subject as he went on about it for a rather long time, only stopping when Seamus was called up to the front by a grinning Justin Finch-Fletchley. 

When Seamus came back, he finally noticed his erstwhile girlfriend, Lavender Brown, bawling her eyes out because Lott had told her she had absolutely no talent in Divination whatsoever. Parvati was looking both sympathetic and at the same time somewhat gleeful that she had a chance to one-up Lavender at their favorite subject. Seamus slouched over to try and console Lavender, who burst into a fresh bout of histrionics as soon as he tried to sympathize. Dean tried to rope Ron into a discussion of football, but Ron's utter ignorance in the subject soon convinced Dean to drop it. Soon enough Dean himself was called up, and after that there was barely a few minutes before Ron himself was sent to the darkened anteroom to the lecture hall by the pretty and dark-haired new Hufflepuff prefect.

The dispassionate eyes of Professor Lott, as black as Professor Snape's, took in Ron's appearance, before motioning him to sit. An opaque potion of strange consistancy was on the desk between them, and Ron hesitantly took a sip at the curtly ordered, "Drink.", then gulped the whole thing down as Lott gave him a look- one that he was familiar with from four years of potions classes, one that meant 'One more disruption and I take off points. Any more and I skin you alive and hang you off the Astronomy Tower for the scavengers.' Most students instinctively minded that look by now.

It did not taste unpleasant- a bit earthy, perhaps, but Ron found himself almost compelled to obey the command to look into the fire burning in a gold chalice between him ans Lott, casting the latter's handsome features in sharp relief. Ron heard himself report seeing nothing, and he was motioned towards the silver chalice, filled with water. Expecting only to see his own reflection, he was shocked when he saw a door- the Minister of Magic's door, recognizable from the few times his father had brought his children into work(always leaving behind Fred and George, to their chagrin). However, instead of 'Fudge', the placard read 'Weasley'. The door opened, to show a red head of hair behind a large overstuffed chair. The idea-sound of paper being shuffled rippled through the image- and the ripples broke the vision into a thousand pieces through refraction and re-refraction. Barely aware he had been narrating the whole time for Lott, Ron looked up, to meet the Professor's measuring gaze. It seemed to strip away all of the petty veils hiding his true self.

"Well." The cold eyes did not show any surprise, and the voice was not inflected with the words. "Most unexpected. Your revised schedule will be available tomorrow morning. Please bring in Miss Zabini."

"You're saying...you're saying I'm a diviner?"

"You are -dismissed-, Mr. Weasley." Danger rang through that tone, and Ron scurried out, returning to his first seat next to Harry, who was finishing his essay. Just in time, as well- Professor Lott followed a deflated-looking Blaise Zabini out, calling all the people with papers to the front of the room. He frowned, looking at the few who straggled down, Harry and Hermione among them. He surveyed the rest of the room, a trace of a scowl on his face.

"Delinquents." There was disgust in his tone, even more when he turned to one of the more densely populated corners of the room. "_Slytherin_ delinquents. What has this school come to?" The scowl turned into a hint of a cruel smile. "Well then. Apparently sloth and ignorance have fully flowered in these hallowed halls. This was not a difficult assignment, but it appears many of you have refrained from trying your hand at defining the Dark Arts beyond something you are being taught to defend against." Lott's hand snaked into his robes. "It appears a demonstration is in order..."


	4. Chapter III

_…just as it had never prevented Lott and Switch from being a formidable team - with much underlying affection for each other…_

The staff table slowly filled as the students filed in for lunch. Professor Adrastus Switch glanced at the empty seat to the right of the Headmistress that had been claimed by his old comrade Gesius Lott and wondered what was keeping the Slytherin. The Headmistress herself was looking a bit worried- however much she tried to hide it, she was obviously star-struck to have the handsome professor pay her attention. That was Gesius' way - sap at the judgement of his rivals by getting a bit...closer...than anybody else.

Adrastus smirked a bit- admittedly, a quarter century ago in his own timeframe he had been briefly smitten quite heavily with the professor as well, spurring him to make the friendship of the new teacher of the Dark Arts elective and head of Slytherin. The one-sided infatuation had faded with time, but the friendship had persisted. The Lott family, wizarding nobility, was unaligned with any family, and Adrastus had stood as second for Gesius in many duels despite his plebeian roots. He had never had to step in once- Lott's skill on the challenge-floor was legendary. Perhaps Lord Marius Marvolo of the First House could best him, but as the Lotts and Marvolos were on friendly terms, they had never crossed wands. And now, they would never get the chance.

The first of the fifth-years straggled in, a few crying, a few more looking completely curse-shocked. The measured pace of Gesius Lott echoed behind Switch, and soon the man himself slid into his chair, looking satisfied. An aura of power seemed to crackle around him, the afterflash of strong magic. Adrastus tasted the air briefly- dark magic.

Eyes narrowed, he turned to Lott. "Perhaps you might explain what you've done to my Gryffindors?" Lott smiled lazily, as beside him that Minerva woman was startled out of the dreamy stare she had directed at Gesius. Switch snorted quietly at her discomfiture, then blinked himself as Lott started into an almost musical recitation of high-level curses. Most of those present recognized the first few, drawing back, but the odd Snape man turned whiter and whiter as the list progressed past the comprehension of the others. The McGonagall woman - Switch still had a hard time thinking of her as Headmistress- compressed her lips tighter and tighter as Lott showed no sign of stopping, calmly nattering away while buttering a large piece of bread. Adrastus would not be dissuaded though. 

"You hexed my Gryffindors." It was not a question.

"Oh, the other houses too." Lott smiled down the table, then taking a bite out of the bread, chewing deliberately. The other teachers seemed too shocked to speak.

"Mr. Lott!" That Woman seemed outraged. "We do not practice the Dark Arts on the student body!"

Lott finished his bread, ignoring her for a good moment. The others eyed him like they would a rabid dog. Finally, he looked up, still smiling slightly, if a touch nastily. "They failed to do my essay, claiming ignorance. I enlightened them. Besides, if they had been taught properly in the first place they should have been able to locally block most all of what I cast..."

Adrastus drew in a breath- while he was still a bit irritated at Gesius, he was well aware that those trying to skimp on work in Lott's classes were taking their lives into their own hands. "Be that as it may, Gesius, it's still a horrid thing to do on the first day..."

"Separating the wheat from the chaff, Adrastus- though it appears they're most all chaff. Honestly, this school has gone quite soft...must be the witches." Both men chuckled grimly at that, ignoring the poisonous stare from the headmistress. Lott polished off the remainder of his meal while Minerva ostentiously ignored him and had a hushed conversation with Snape, on her other side. The other professors were murmuring in discontent- especially the short one that Adrastus had pegged as the most dangerous. Filius Flitwick may have needed a stepping-stool to reach his chair, but Switch felt that underestimating him would be a bad idea. The same went for the voluminous and flighty-seeming Herbology witch.

All conversation halted as Lott stood silently, making his way down to stand in the open space below the High Table. He nodded to Marvolo at the head of the Slytherins, and the slim boy rose, in turn nodding to his pretty cousin at the Hufflepuff table. Adrastus made his own way down, familiar by now with the ritual of the duel - though, fortunately for Marvolo, this was simply a show.

He watched detachedly, stepping up and bowing when it was his turn to do so, listening as Lott demanded silence (and seemed irritated to have to demand it), noting it would be either voluntary or enforced. Then the duel began.

Magic arced from both wands, Lott going into one of his standard routines that the boy was hard-pressed to defend against. All were blocked in the first volley though- not that there were volleys as such in a true duel. The murmuring of curse and countercurse was omnipresent, the magical exchange awe-inspiring in its swiftness and complexity. Lott stepped up the pace some, and Marvolo began to slip, slightly- curses cracked his hastily constructed barriers. Insects began to gnaw their way out from his skin, which started to boil as another curse hit. Both were quickly healed, but less and less of Marvolo's energy was going to spatter off Lott's expertly constructed shields. Still, his performance was excellent- he had lasted longer than some grown wizards. In a duel to the death, Adrastus noted the moment when the killing blow would have been struck by now- not this newfangled killing curse, but the old way, through the combination of many spells meant to maim, confuse, smother, stab, and the ten thousand other ways magic could harm a body. Instead, Lott toyed with Marvolo, launching into a truly artistic display that was intended more to impress than to actually harm. Marvolo was beaten, a fact set in stone when his wand arced from his hand and into Lott's, whose head was turned as he listened to something no one else could hear, staring towards the entryway...

Indeed, bare seconds later the door to the Great Hall slammed open, as a team of eight Aurors entered, wands out. They were followed by Cornelius Fudge with an elite dementor guard, Arthur Weasley keeping his distance from same, Lucius Malfoy with the shadow of a smirk on his face, and Mad-Eye Moody on his wooden leg. The Aurors and Moody advanced, the latter firing a stunning spell. Most of the students sensibly took shelter under the tables as the spells started flying.

It was a very one-way fight. Switch offered Marvolo some Restorative Draught as Lott almost lazily batted away the disabling spells, shifting position ever-so-slightly into an offensive stance. A curt gesture with his wand slammed two Aurors against the wall-flicking it backwards disarmed two more. The Valery girl stood by Switch after a brief moment of hesitation, gleefully Stunning the Auror who tried to pull her out of the way. Marvolo, holding his head, joined in-an arc of force took the wand of a very surprised Auror. Switch himself pursed his lips before immobilizing the last one with some difficulty - Mad-Eye Moody. Lott tossed the wands he had taken to Marvolo before purposefully striding down the aisle, stopping a good 20 feet from the others. The Weasley man had run to see to the safety of his children, while the Malfoy boy was nowhere in sight. The elder Malfoy, however, eyed Lott with a combination of terror and respect.

"What is the meaning of this?" There was no jest in Lott's voice now, nothing tempering the icy power of his voice. Fudge shrunk back, while Moody swiftly shook free of his imprisonment and glared back. "There was a report of dark activity on the premises. Where's Dumbledore? What have you done to him?"

Gesius was uncowed, circling slowly around Moody. His wand was still in his hand. "Done to Dumbledore? Nothing." A short laugh. "He took his own life..."


	5. Chapter IV

…Lott was the perfect Slytherin mentor; the only tactics he ever condemned were those which were unsuccessful...

Moody's real eye bugged out, but he quickly controlled his response. The dark wizard's gaze swept over the others- the conscious Aurors looked grim, and Fudge whimpered, though his dementors. Malfoy met that gaze, but his skin was porcelain-pale, and his hands were shaking, the faint gleam of triumph in his eyes quickly fading. Arthur Weasley, placing himself between his youngest and the stranger, shivered a bit, hollow inside. They had all thought Dumbledore would live forever, that he had everything under control. Fudge would have never mounted his 'rescue mission' had he known Dumbledore was gone...that Dumbledore had finally left him to fend for himself.   

            Before it had time to sink in, though, an almost familiar voice spoke up sharply from the Gryffindor table. "Mildly inaccurate." It had to be a Gryffindor- Arthur doubted that any other House would have students willing to throw themselves in the middle of such a tense situation. He turned to look.

            Surprisingly, it was not Harry. A boy who could have been mistaken for Arthur's youngest son from a distance stood from the table, carefully extricating himself from the students ducked behind it. He stared at the dark wizard piercingly. Arthur did not see what passed between them. Lucius Malfoy smirked. "One of yours, Arthur?"

             For the third time on their trip, Arthur reined in his temper. The urge to pound the elitist snob's face into the floor was tempered by his good sense, and the presence of the Azkaban guards. He just snarled at the undeservedly exalted man who pushed all of his plugs. At least, he thought that was the correct Muggle analogy… "No."

The boy coughed, baby-blue eyes subtly taking on an amused glint. With a harmonious but attention-grabbing screech, a phoenix unexpectedly popped into existence on his shoulder. The Aurors gaped.

Mad-Eye appeared lost for words for a moment. In a creaky voice he asked, "Albus?"

A solemn nod. "Alastor. I would suggest that you not antagonize Professor Lott further. Rest assured he will not harm the students under his watch….well, not permanently in any case…" 

"You're out of line, Dumbledore..." growled the craggy-faced accomplice to the sleek and handsome dark wizard. The dark wizard in question seemed content to let Dumbledore defuse the situation for now. Or perhaps not - he was staring at the doors again, perhaps looking at something that wasn't there.

"I would imagine…" he said softly, "that you are neglecting your responsibilities elsewhere…" 

Several things happened at once. Lucius Malfoy tensed, a panicked and scorched owl zoomed into the Hall, and Fudge's bodyguards moved, swiftly gliding up to him. He didn't have time to react before he was pulled into a Kiss. The dementors then scattered, heading for the Aurors. One latched on to Arthur Weasley – the twins screamed and grabbed at it, trying to shake it off. A few Patronii were conjured in haste – and Professor Lott gestured quickly and surely. The dementor embracing Arthur rattled a scream as it was sucked from him and the essence of it tightly confined in a flawlessly-constructed sphere of force. At that point, everything seemed to stop for a moment as the young auburn-haired boy glanced at the cloud-smothered ceiling. 

And then, the phoenix sang. 

The three free dementors fled, their flesh smoking. The few Patronii pursued before fading. 

Professor Lott did not release the abomination he had forced off of Arthur Weasley. Compacted into a small sphere of shadow-essence, it screamed as the song purified it. The darkness leeched out of it, except for where the black bolt of energy connected it to Professor Lott's wand. 

A murmured word, and the now cloudy-white orb shivered...black lightning crackled off it as it was released, floating, the dark bolts seeming like pseudopods. It rolled around, still suspended in midair... 

The umbra, where Lott had tethered it, was blacker than night, surrounded by a gray penumbra. A cold feeling followed its gaze - for it was undoubtedly an eye distilled from blindness. It hovered, fixing Moody's mad-eye with a glance for a moment, then darting over to Professor Lott, its creator...

The oily magical aftertaste of the Dark Arts permeated the air, and Lott stared challengingly at the assembled Aurors, Moody, and Lucius Malfoy faking surprise at the course of events almost successfully. He was daring them to make a comment, to challenge him for what he had done.

Few in their right minds would challenge a Master of the Dark Arts. Smiling triumphantly with half-lidded eyes, Lott turned back to Moody, watching silently as a scorched owl fluttered over to him. His mad-eye read the message while the owl was still in flight, and he turned his back on Lott, swiftly and unexpectedly disabling Lucius Malfoy with _Petrificus Totalis_. "The Ministry is under attack."

His gaze flicked back to Lott, and he growled, "I'll deal with you later." The threat in that faded as Lott simply raised an amused eyebrow. "The fifth side door is trapped with Greek Fire, then. I would hate for you to ignominiously perish before I am….dealt with."  The smirk was audible in his tone. Moody growled, and hobbled off to join the other Aurors, who had slipped out of the Great Hall.  The twins helped a shaken Arthur to his feet, and he started after the Aurors grimly. The Weasleys watched, even as Headmistress McGonagall tried to take charge. 

A battle was going on for the future of the wizarding world – but except for the first and second-years, classes weren't cancelled. The fifth-year Gryffindors exchanged nervous glances as they headed outside for Herbology. Today was a day that would change things – but they could only wait and see.

Author's Note II: For those interested in the backgrounds of the OCs herein, the first chapter of Minerva McTabby's "Two Worlds and In Between" is now up, with the beginnings of the story of Julius Marvolo, Carus Tamino, Lucretia Valery, the Dumbledores, and Professors Switch and Lott. I highly recommend it to anyone who has been reading thus far.  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=705541


	6. Chapter V

_Even if Peeves the Poltergeist had overcome his fear of the Bloody Baron enough to venture into Slytherin, we wouldn't have required his services; we had Dumbledore Minor._

Aberforth Dumbledore liked this future. For one, his housemates would talk to him. Tiny Christopher Farryll seemed to like him a lot, which was a new concept for Aberforth. Magical people in his experience didn't like him – they tolerated or harassed him (or in Marvolo's case made him work with Belcore, which was harassment of another sort).

The Slytherin first-years were in History of Magic, nervously discussing Professor Lott while waiting for their own professor. Arete Snape, who thought an awful lot of herself and resembled Lott more than a bit, was trying to explain what he'd done with the Dementor. She was wrong, but Aberforth didn't want to out and tell her – he thought she was pretty, and didn't want to treat her like Julius treated him. Besides, he hadn't the slightest idea how it had been done, only that it couldn't have been done like she said. 

He wondered who the teacher was – he hadn't wanted to ask Julius to read his schedule to him, figuring he would follow his classmates around until he figured out what was what. His teacher back before all the really strange things had started happening was Binns, but Aberforth hadn't seen any of the rest of his Masters (thankfully, in the case of Jigger). He had liked History of Magic, and Binns – though trying to play along without the knowledge of family history that other Slytherins seemed to have automatically was a bit hard. People had had to talk to him then, his fellow classmates – and his role was always on the top, playing a Marvolo. It was certainly more fun than Professor Jigger constantly yelling at him and Hal Weasley in Potions, or Professor Switch being mean to him in Transfiguration. 

An aged and translucent Professor finally floated through the wall, and Aberforth yelped (as did a couple of the other Slytherins, thankfully). Not another ghost! The Bloody Baron past and present seemed to take a perverse delight in harassing him, much to the amusement of his former classmates, but this one was new to him. He still hadn't gotten completely used to the ghosts in the castle, but what really bothered him was that this one looked weirdly familiar. Was it…wait…it couldn't be! Binns was an actual person! He wasn't supposed to be a ghost! Greatly daring, Aberforth shuffled up to the ghost nervously, trying to tug on an intangible sleeve. 

"Professor Binns?"

The filmy and translucent eyes focused on him slowly. Binns finally creaked, "Abernathy Minor?"

"Aberforth, sir." A bit bashful, suddenly, Aberforth looked down.

"What is it? Speak up, Alastor!"

"Err…Professor? You're, uh…dead."

The creepy eyes kept looking blankly over the class, before blinking. "Er. So I am…"

This wasn't the way things were supposed to be going. Aberforth blushed suddenly, wishing that he had never got himself in this awkward situation fervently. Everything he did seemed to come out wrong somehow!

Binns blinked again, his long-unexercised mind whirring slowly into gear. "Well. Bugger –this- for a lark then." 

He disappeared. The other Slytherins gaped. Aberforth once again got the feeling he had done something wrong. He didn't mean to!

"Er." he said, looking where the ghostly Professor had been, then to the door, where Professor Lott was looking in. He went pale. "I didn't mean to! It just happened!" 

Gesius Lott's mouth twitched, as he wondered what the thrice-damned boy had done this time. And just when he had been getting somewhere with that hag of a headmistress, too…  
  
***  
  


It was surprising how normal the class was, at first. Of course, if one was Albus Dumbledore at his first Herbology class, normalcy seemed to be relative. Albus quite sensibly measured strangeness as relating to his arrival here some months past. Where the scale was based on performing one's own last rites, everyday oddities were put in perspective. Albus was given a wide berth by the other Gryffindors, as they didn't know quite what to make of him. Of course, he didn't know quite what to make of himself either - but he had stopped worrying about it. Industriously examining a formidable magical weed choking an immature bulbotuber, he barely acknowledged Professor Sprout's hurried departure - Aberforth, again. His mind was thinking on another level entirely, though he did begin to take more of an interest in what the fellow students Sprout had left under his care were actually talking about. 

Marvolo's dark-haired cousin, Lucretia Valery, lounged against one of the tables, having attracted a curious crowd of girls. She was reveling in the attention given her as she detailed the character of Professor Lott. Aside from the gender of the participants, this was nothing particularly new. The man was emotionally shallow, manipulative by nature, and devoid of any empathy whatsoever. He had very few redeeming qualities, though he could appear as the most agreeable person imaginable if he was inclined to do so. He was a Dark wizard of extraordinary power, a Master of his craft, and he killed emotionlessly - Professor Switch had taken Albus to see him duel once, and he had never forgotten what he had learned there. 

Dumbledore had encountered a term in this library that described Lott quite aptly: 'sociopath'. Except that he wasn't quite, as such- he was superbly in tune with the 'norms' of the lapsed world of the wizard nobility…where the rules were what one made of them. He was completely and utterly Slytherin in his methodology.

However, he had a pretty face, and for some, that was enough to excuse anything. Dumbledore shook his head, and stealthily   
Transfigured a weed into a Golden Snidget, surreptitiously watching the shimmering globe of a bird zoom out the door with a smile.

Valery was expounding on Lott's supposed sexual prowess now without any apparent shame – evoking nervous giggles from the   
Hufflepuff girls and an "Oh, honestly!" from his fellow Gryffindor prefect, a sensible girl with a good head on her shoulders. 

Lucretia tossed her head, smiling at Miss Granger. "Well, dear, you have to realize that Lord Lott is a Master of the Arts of Love – one of the few wizards who actually –bother-…which makes him quite a catch, even without the other factors."

Some of the pureblood wizards and witches blushed a bit, and a Hufflepuff tittered. Enough was enough.

"Miss Valery, if you aspire to be Lord Lott's latest conquest, do spare us the details…" 

"Who said he would be doing the conquering?" smiled Lucretia.


End file.
